Cocktails in Chelsea (5 page)

'Oh.' He got it immediately. 'Black and Gold? You're kidding.'

'Like the song. I know. Ha ha.'

'So now you know my full name,' he undid a shirt button and her eyes widened, 'are you coming?'

Almost,
she thought naughtily. She chewed her lip. She hardly knew him. On the other hand, he was kind, trustworthy and oh so delicious. Nothing was going to happen. Probably. She squirmed at the thought of something happening, at the funny feeling down low in her pelvis. What was it her sister had said, that she should take more risks in her personal life?

Taking the hand he held out towards her, she smiled up at him. ‘Let’s go.’

They stopped for coffee on the way back to his flat. It was part of his routine after work and he felt like it would be awkward if they headed straight back to his, like he was picking her up for a one-night stand. Which was definitely not the case. He liked her, but he didn’t want to be presumptuous, especially when they lived in different cities.

‘Do you actually like this place?’ She wrinkled her nose as they stepped through the door, surveying the stark, over-lit cafe with its white walls, black and white tiled floors and wooden tables.

He looked around. ‘I’ve never really thought about it. It’s on the way home, and it’s convenient, so I come here. I’m usually kind of zoned out, winding down after work. You hate it don’t you? Do you want to look for somewhere else?’ Checking his watch, ‘I’m not sure how many cafes will be open around here at this time of night.’

‘No, it’s okay, don’t worry,’ she walked in ahead of him, choosing a table in the corner and slinging her jacket on the back of the chair. ‘I’d hate to be accused of being high maintenance,’ she smiled up at him playfully. ‘It’s just kind of soulless, that’s all. I prefer a bit of colour.’

‘What, like a high street coffee chain with comfortable maroon chairs and standard menus?’ he teased her.

She mock shuddered, ‘No, they’re almost as bad. They’re comfy, but they’re all the same. You know exactly what you’re going to get when you walk into one.’

Nathan sank down into the chair across from her, signalling to the young waitress across the room that they wanted to order. Looking back at Sofia, he raised an eyebrow. ‘Some people like that consistency. That’s the whole point; that the customer can expect the same standard of service if they go into a cafe at opposite ends of the country. When I open my own cocktail bar-,’

‘Whoa,’ her green eyes widened, ‘when you do what?’

He flushed, used to his parents’ criticism of the idea, and his friends asking him why he’d do that when he could use his degree and get a nine to five office job instead of risking every penny he had. ‘I know it’s not really contributing to society, it’ll be hard work with long hours and there’s every chance it could fail, but-,’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she squeaked, ‘I think that’s amazing. And never mind whether it contributes to society or not, if that’s what makes you happy, owning your own place and serving cocktails, then you should do it. Who cares what other people think?’

‘I-,’ he could feel his mouth trying to form words but nothing came out. After a minute he croaked, ‘Thank you.’

‘For what?’ she asked, looking puzzled.

‘I don’t think anyone has ever been so enthusiastic about it or immediately accepting of, the idea before.’

‘Are you kidding? You’ve got to follow your dreams.’ She waved a hand, ‘Life is way too short.’ She paused. ‘Oh, my God. You are Brian Flanagan!’

‘Brian who?’

‘Brian Flanagan.’ Her eyes sparkled with excitement. ‘From
Cocktail
.’

He stared at her, aware he was grinning like a loony. There were some moments when she was like a little kid, full of the joy of life and as if she was unaware of how harsh it could sometimes be. It made a nice change to some of the cynical city girls he was used to who came into the bar.

The waitress arrived at the table before he could ask Sofia what she was on about, so it wasn’t until after she’d taken their order for two coffees, with a wide grin at Nathan and a frowning glare at Sofia, that he leaned forward, forearm against hers on the narrow table.

‘
Cocktail
?’ he prompted.

She glanced down at where their arms were touching, and shivered slightly. ‘One of the best films of the eighties,’ she explained, looking into his eyes. ‘Tom Cruise plays the main character, Brian, who leaves the army and moves to New York with a dream of owning his own bar. He works in different places to learn his skills and meets this guy he becomes friends with, but…’ she smiled, ‘well, you’ll have to see for yourself one day.’

‘Okay, I’ll make a note to check it out, and see what you’re so excited about. But, one of the best films of the eighties? You can’t be an eighties kid, you’re too young.’

‘Twenty-three,’ she answered, ‘but my sister Isobel is three years older and started raiding our mum’s extensive film collection as soon as she could and because Mum had a soft spot for eighties films, we grew up watching them.’

‘Right. So what are your other favourites?’

Scrunching her face up, she made an hmmming noise, ‘That’s a hard one, but The Breakfast Club would have to be on the list.’

‘Now that one I’ve seen. A classic coming-of-age film. That’s a good one.’

‘Wasn’t it great how these kids who had nothing in common except for being in detention together somehow found common bonds?’ she exclaimed. ‘Genius.’

She stopped talking and sat back in her chair to let the waitress clink their coffees down in front of them. She smiled her thanks, but the girl ignored her, focusing completely on Nathan. It was a bit embarrassing. The girl always flirted with him but he seldom returned it. She looked about seventeen, and there was something vulnerable in her eyes. At twenty five he felt like he was too old for her. ‘Thanks,’ he murmured, pointedly shifting his arm closer to Sofia’s again.

‘Uh-oh,’ Sofia teased once the girl was out of earshot, ‘it looks like someone’s got a crush.’

‘Not me,’ he said hastily, before wondering why he cared that much.

‘I know that,’ Sofia tutted, rolling her eyes at him.

‘I have tried to give her the polite
thanks but I’m
not interested
signals.’

‘Sounds like you need a decoy girlfriend, to protect you,’ she raised her eyebrows.

‘Are you offering?’ he shot back.

‘Are you asking?’

An uneasy silence fell as they stared at each other, then she cleared her throat and took a sip of coffee. ‘So anyway, you were saying about opening your own cocktail bar, off the back of consistency of service. You don’t plan to only have the one place then?’

‘I’ll start off small with the flagship bar,’ he stirred milk and sugar into his coffee, and tapped the spoon on the side of the mug before placing it on the table, ‘but if it was successful, then yes, I plan to expand to a chain, even if it’s only a few dotted around London city.’

‘But you’d make every place look exactly the same?’ she chewed her lip. ‘Everyone has their preferences, but to me that’s playing it safe, and might be boring. That’s why I love travelling. No two places are exactly the same; you’re going to have different experiences in every country or city you go to.’ She leaned forward, ‘I think you could have a chain of bars that were recognisably yours because of their branding without having to be identical throughout. There’s a group of bar-restaurant lounges in Bournemouth that do it very successfully, and the service, food and setting are consistently excellent across all the sites. The decor of each one is different but the feel across all of them is the same.’

‘Well, it’s something to think about,’ he mused. ‘You’re an opinionated little thing, aren’t you?’

‘Mouthy do you mean?’ She took another sip of her drink, dropping her gaze to the table.

He hooked a finger under her chin and tilted it upwards. ‘I like it,’ he emphasised. ‘It’s nice to be with a girl who isn’t always worried about saying the wrong thing or agreeing with me for the sake of it.’

‘Oh, you’d never have to be worried about that with me,’ she wrapped both hands around her coffee. ‘I’m too used to arguing it out with some of the contractors at work who don’t want to deal with me during the build process because I’m a girl.’

‘Contractors? What do you do then?’

‘I design and engineer skate parks.’ She nodded, ‘It’s the perfect job for me. I’ve been skateboarding since I was six and started surfing at nine. Being on a board is as natural as breathing. That’s why it drives me mad when some of the contractors won’t listen or follow instruction. I probably know more about urban landscaping and CDM than all of them put together.’

‘CDM?

‘You don’t want to know, trust me.’

‘Fair enough. It all sounds pretty cool though, and I admire you for the surfing and skating.’ That would explain the defined stomach and toned arms. ‘It takes a lot of skill, right?’

‘If you’re good at it, yes,’ she grinned, ‘bloody hurts if you don’t concentrate though, especially the skating. I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve come off the board, but there are so many variables. If you’re street skating, it can just take one crack in the pavement or an uneven paving slab or a pebble caught in a wheel and you’re off, praying you fall into a wall rather than into the road. And if you’re on ramps, if you miscalculate by a centimetre or start off wrong, you can be face-planting before you know it. I’ve had all sorts of scrapes, bruises and sprains in my time. In comparison, the sea can be a lot more forgiving, as long as it’s not rough.’

‘You got any scars?’ Nathan drained the last of his coffee.

‘Oh, loads,’ she said casually.

‘You sound fearless. And you don’t seem bothered.’

‘I don’t even notice them anymore,’ she shared, ‘and besides I don’t think of the injuries as a reminder of a bad fall or a landing, I think about the fantastic time I was having
before
it went wrong.’

‘That’s a positive way of looking at it.’ He chewed the inside of his mouth thoughtfully. ‘I guess you could look at a lot of things in life that way.’

She smiled, ‘That’s me.’ Finishing her coffee, she put a hand to her mouth and yawned, before looking mortified. ‘I’m so sorry, you’re not boring me! It’s just that we’ve been out late the last few nights.’

‘It’s fine, don’t worry. I’m tired too.’ But he wasn’t, not in the least, he felt wired and wide awake, not like how he usually felt at this time of night. Perhaps the waitress had made the coffee stronger today. Or maybe it was Sofia.

Standing up, he reached around and grabbed her jacket as she stumbled to her feet, eyelids looking heavy. He helped her thread both arms into the sleeves, using it as an excuse to free her long blonde hair from her collar and arrange it across her shoulders. It felt unbelievably soft in his hands and smelt like kiwi fruit.

‘Anyway,’ he stepped back and threw a fiver down on the table. ‘Time to go.’

'Bloody British weather!' Nathan complained as he hustled Sofia through his front door twenty minutes later. ‘Where the hell did all that rain come from?’ Locking the door, he turned around to face her.

'April showers, remember?' She laughed, gazing around his small, cluttered lounge as she tied her hair, which had twisted into sodden ropes, into a knot. 'And I quite like the rain. Great to surf in. Very refreshing and invigorating.'

‘If you say so.' He beckoned her further into the room, extracted her from her damp jacket and hung it up next to his on a hook on the back of the door.

‘Tea?’ When she nodded, he moved into the kitchen area in the corner of the lounge, switched the kettle on and popped teabags into two mugs. ‘Sugar?’

‘I could make that joke about being sweet enough,’ she followed him over and rested against the counter next to him, ‘but I take one spoon please.’

‘Ha ha.’ He stared at the mugs, looking oddly tense.

‘Nathan? Are you okay?’ she quizzed, staring at him.

He answered without looking at her. ‘Yep, fine. I’d er, better get some towels for us.’

‘Towels?’

‘You’re wet,’ he pointed out, switching his attention to the wall.

‘We both are. We got rained on.’

‘Your top, Sofia.’

‘My-?’ she looked down. The scarlet fabric was clinging to her body and the lacy red bra underneath was clearly visible. ‘Oh.’ She pulled it away from her body, but almost didn’t, just to see what he would do. She liked him. A lot. She liked the way he spoke to her, the way he looked at her, how gentlemanly he was in making her go first through doors, helping her in and out of her jacket and he’d also steadied her outside on the slippery paving slabs when she’d almost tripped over. Okay, so it was the twenty-first century and women could look after themselves, but it was still nice to find a guy who believed in some of the traditional values. He was also funny and ambitious and totally hot.

So she came very close to shuffling closer to him, taking a giant risk and asking him if he wanted to help her out of her top, but she wasn’t quite brave enough and it wasn’t fair, when he was clearly uncomfortable, and hanging back for a reason.

‘You know,’ he poured hot water into both mugs and stirred the teabags round, ‘you should never feel the need to pretend to be someone you’re not to fit in. I prefer you far more when you’re being yourself. I mean, the way you stood up to your stuck-up friend back there, when she was saying those things about me, was amazing.’

Her face went hot, embarrassment at Christie’s comments making the skin of her neck prickle. ‘She was out of order, and I’d been really patient with her up until then. I couldn’t not say anything. It wouldn’t have been right.’

‘Well, I appreciate it.’ He cast her a sideways glance.

‘It was nothing.’ Her mouth dried up as their eyes met. She could feel the heat coming off his tall, wiry body despite the rain-spotted white shirt, and his crisp aftershave filled the small space between them. She lifted a hand off the side, seriously thinking about grabbing a handful of shirt and yanking him in for another sexy kiss. A proper, long-lasting one this time.

'Anyway, towels.' He cleared his throat and she jumped. 'Sorry. I'll go and get some towels.'